George walked past the van, giving Lou a thumbs-up sign that Lou returned, though neither of them seemed sincere.
He walked down the path, moving at a brisk pace. Prescott and Angie disappeared into the trees next to him. George at least had to appreciate that he wasn’t joining them in wandering through a swamp, though Sam was getting a pretty sweet deal if he was that well-paid just for hanging out in the van.
He focused on taking deep breaths to keep himself calm. He wasn’t quite on the verge of freaking out, but he couldn’t imagine that Prescott and Angie had his personal safety as a top priority, or even any kind of priority. If Ivan suddenly charged him, he expected that they’d be perfectly happy to fire the net, entangle both of them, and let the werewolf shred him. George very much doubted that there’d be any kind of penalty for letting the hired thugs perish.
Still, he had to cooperate. They weren’t going to go out of their way to protect him, but it also didn’t seem as if they were going to go out of their way to kill him, so his best bet for long-term happiness was to be their bait, try to keep himself alive, and hope that the plan to recapture Ivan was a great big rousing success.
And then, assuming they could ever get hired again, George and Lou would vow never to take any kind of job that involved cages or man-beasts. That’s how he’d start every conversation with Ricky: “Does this job involve a cage or a man-beast? Because if it does, tell them to shove it.” And they’d never come back to Florida. Fuck Florida and its sweltering heat and ugly alligators and evil serial killer werewolves. Fuck it right in the face.
He kept walking. There was no sign of Angie and Prescott. They were good at staying hidden, he had to give them that, unless they’d lagged behind for a cigarette or a quickie or something.
Maybe Ivan would be lying on the ground, barely alive, huge ring-shaped burns in his flesh from being underneath the blanket. Oh, George would love that. It would almost be worth all of this happening, just for that moment of victory.
Ivan grins, sliding the blade across Diane’s neck, as blood spills down the front of her shirt...
George tried to force the memory out of his mind. He couldn’t let himself get distracted.
He could hear the little boy wailing “Mommy!”
For all George knew, the cops had never actually been to the house. The little boy could still be in the kitchen, sobbing while he held his mother’s blood-soaked body. Or the boy could be staring off into space, never to really see anything again.
Stop it.
George hadn’t been just talking bullshit with Lou. He really did plan to make things right. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that he’d become some kind of saint, strolling from town to town doing good deeds, but he’d find a way to make up for this. Though he’d never be able to completely clear his conscience, maybe he’d at least be able to soothe it a bit, silence the voice inside that was screaming at him and telling him he was a monster.
But, again, it was not something to worry about now. For now, he needed to worry about that goddamn werewolf.
George thought he heard the crack of a branch to his right. Apparently Prescott wasn’t a total ninja.
His stomach really hurt. He just wanted this over with.
If you die, that’s a pretty crappy legacy you’re leaving behind. Lots of people’s lives are worse because you were born. Even if you died this morning, before you met Ivan, there’d be no good reason for anybody to mourn, except maybe Lou since he’d have the hassle of finding a new partner. If an angel seeking his wings went It’s a Wonderful Life on you and showed you a world where you’d never been born, it would probably be a festival of smiles and balloons and merry children.
His stomach really, really hurt. Throwing up might actually make him feel better, but he didn’t want Prescott or Angie to see it.
He wiped some sweat from his forehead. He looked at his hand, which seemed to have more blood than perspiration on it.
Focus on the positive, he told himself. When this is over, you and Lou will check yourself into a luxury hotel--separate rooms--and spend the next seven days soaking in a hot tub. You’ll catch up on all of those books you’ve never quite found time to read. Drink fine wine and eat grapes. Watch porn.
He came around a slight corner and, about a hundred feet ahead, he could see Bateman’s van.
Son of a bitch. Ivan really was here.
George forced himself not to run. Stay calm. Don’t get too excited.
The back doors of the van hung open, and George could see the cage inside. Somebody was in there. Had Ivan actually gotten back into the cage? Why the hell would he--?
No. It was Michele, huddled into the back corner.
Shit.
This had to be a trap. But how could Ivan have known they were coming? He couldn’t, unless the reinforcements were actually working for the werewolf, and that idea was really dumb.
The situation was making George uncomfortable and paranoid, but he had to stick with the plan. The absolute last thing he needed was for Ivan to rush off and find another well-populated area for a killing spree. George’s official role was “werewolf bait,” and he was going to play it out.
He walked over to the van. Michele was seated, head down, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, her whole body quivering as she silently wept.
“Michele...?”
She looked up. Her eyes were red and puffy and her whole face was blotchy from crying.
“I’m here to get you out of there,” said George. “Where’s Ivan?”
“I don’t know.”
“Which way did he go?”
“I didn’t see.”
“Michele, I need you to focus. Everything’s going to be all right. I promise, I’m not going to let him hurt you.”
“You can’t promise anything,” Michele said. She sniffled, then held up her right hand, revealing a curved row of deep puncture wounds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Wolf’s Bite
“It’ll be okay,” George assured her. “That’s an ugly bite but it’s not too bad. Lou got clawed up a lot worse and he’s still kicking around.”
“Don’t pretend to be dense. You know what this means.”
“No, he doesn’t play by the werewolf rules. This doesn’t mean anything.”
“He said it did.”
“Well, Ivan’s a liar. He just said that to scare you. Don’t listen to anything he says. I swear to you that you’ll be fine.”
Michele shook her head sadly. “No. I can feel it.”
“You’re just stressed out. It could be anything.”
“I’ve been stressed all day. This is something horrible. As soon as his teeth went into me I knew what he’d done.”
George hurriedly glanced around the area for any sign of Ivan. There was none. “Okay, okay, for the sake of argument let’s say that he did make you into a werewolf. Is that really such a bad thing? He seems pretty happy.”
“He can control it.”
“Maybe they all can. Maybe that’s why we never hear about werewolves--they all have total control over their powers, so only the lunatic idiots like Ivan let out the secret.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” She began to sob uncontrollably.
“Just calm down. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s all going to be fine. I need to know, did Ivan set a trap?”
“Me, maybe.”
“Why did he leave you? Was I supposed to find you?”
Michele shook her head. “He looked nervous all of a sudden and just left.”
“Good, good. So he’s either running or watching us.”